Tag Archives: body image

This is going to be a very long, very personal post. Most of it is going to be in my handwriting so if you can’t read it, I apologise. I think it’s reasonably legible, but who knows what anyone else will think. It’s fine if you can’t be fucked. I write quickly and in a lengthy manner and because it’s handwritten, it’s not edited or anything. I’m also going to put lots of pictures because photos are nice. If there’s a photo of you and you want me to remove it, just lemme know. Here goes…

Then, in order of mention in these pages (most of these pictures come from my camera. The ones that don’t, I have no idea who took. Even some of the ones that are could have been taken by anyone. Sorry if you read this and you know it was you and I didn’t mention):

An intense and completely mental relationship with the Boy in first year. Obvs.

A very small amount of my first year crazy. I’ve never taken pictures of my self harm, and if I had I wouldn’t put them online. Sometimes, when I’m feeling strong, I cover myself in sharpie marker to express how I feel.

Which the Boy tried to make better. Excuse my icky toes. I know they are bad.

That was a bad year. But second year was actually ok see?:

The beginning of second year – Three stone overweight (not in BMI terms, though I was overweight, but in terms of what my set point seems to be now) and at the very beginning of losing weight. At the zoo. Looking at the lion.

Christmas Eve 2008. I’m about the weight I am now and very excited (obvs. because Christmas Eve is the best day of the year ever!).

Being normal(ish) in love.

Having fun times with the Fam and famo friends (that’s the Brother eating a snail in France btw).

Visiting home friends.

And them visiting me.

Making uni friends.

And dressing up for bad club nights with them.

And going to pubs too!

That was my normal second year. Here are some pictures to illustrate how nang Bristol is:

See? Bristol is very pretty.

Ok so this isn’t my department, but I didn’t take any pictures of my department. This is where I graduated though. It too is basically a castle.

Brilliant clubs: Lab.

Motion.

I think this was Shit the Bed or Tribe of Frog at Lakota. I was too high to take a good picture so the quality is rubbish, but you get the point.

1920s Hip-Hop night at Lab. This was really good. Like really really.

Hallowe’en at Black Swan. I really love this photo.

These are now just going to be pictures of and from Clifton Suspension bridge in all its glory. They’re all from the day I graduated (so all these pictures were taken by the Dad obvs.). It’s so nice there. One of my favourite places in the world to be ever:

And for the hell of it, because it’s not on the internet anywhere – This is me at graduation:

This is like the only nice picture of me that day I swear.

And finally, me now:

Well kinda. I’ve cut and dyed my hair since. Plus I was so drunk and high and on a lot of Valium. I mostly don’t look this silly. (I have to give Walker credit for this photo).

I still have a thing about sharpie marker pens… Trust me, most days its all over the places you can’t see.

And for the hell of it:

Isn’t she just the best thing ever? I really really love my dog.

So there you go. Lots of photos so this post is nicer to look at. Plus it’s lots of happy memories, which kinda makes me sad, but is what I need right now. It’s a lot of insight into my brain and also my life, but I thought it’d be nice to share a little. I hope you enjoyed it.

Firstly, I had an appointment with the Psychiatrist at my EDU. Obviously, I was weighed. It was down from last time by a few kilos, but I think that’s due to natural variation due to time of the month, what I’d eaten etc. Still well within the healthy range though. My BMI has settled to a healthy 21 (ish), regardless of what I eat or how much I exercise. I’m getting a whole load better at understanding my hunger signals – I eat whatever, whenever. Today I even had a greasy spoon sausage baguette (don’t judge me. It’s literally one of my favorite foods. Deep fried, bad quality sausage in a buttered white baguette tastes so boom its almost obscene) which is something I never thought I’d ever eat again. The Psychiatrist was so pleased with my progress. She said it was really surprising considering some of the shit I’ve had to deal with whilst with them, yet I stuck with the treatment plan fairly consistently for an eating disorder patient and that she’s really impressed with my perseverance. She has pronounced me eating disorder free! I know that my eating is something I have to keep my eye on (probably forever) as relapses are common and eating disorder behaviours can sneak back in or manifest themselves in different ways, but right now, I live basically eating disorder free. It’s actually really good. Life is a lot less tense. Plus I actually am getting used to my body and don’t entirely hate it. I’m almost sad that summer is over because I can’t wear crop tops as much any more. Today I did wear an incredibly tight, incredibly short black dress though so it’s not like I’m ashamed of my body. I don’t even think I’m that big. I look big sometimes, other times not so much. I eat what I like, but I don’t want to eat everything. I don’t have weird cravings to eat all the dried fruit or all the calcium or all the nut butter or all the honey. Some of my recovery foods seem a little bit sickly now. It’s ok though. I don’t always want biscuits or chocolate or chips, but when I do, I can eat them happily. I can and do eat whatever I like, yet I don’t actually want to eat everything, all the time. I didn’t think it’d ever be possible again. Sometimes I eat so much cake I feel a bit sick, but I don’t purge and my weight doesn’t change and it doesn’t upset me too much. Sometimes I don’t eat enough, so I grab some extra fruit or have some cereal or whatever. It is entirely possible to get to this point. You’d think it wasn’t, but it is. I’m even losing my food morality things. I used to thrive in the moral superiority in eating low-calorie, low-fat, lots of veggies, lots of fibre, lots of fruit, or nothing at all, especially when other people are eating around me. Now I’ll happily munch on some chips smothered in salt and pepper in front of everyone I know. I’ll even make chip sandwiches because they are too lovely (carbs go so well with other carbs I swear). It’s not hard to order something I know is higher calorie than what people around me eat. The best bit is that I don’t think about food or plan food or count calories 24/7. And my fat is redistributing a bit. My belly isn’t too big – it’s kinda soft and nice. My arms look so much healthier it’s ridiculous. I actually think my legs are well buff, even though my thighs definitely touch, almost entirely.

So yer, I’ve basically been discharged from my EDU. I never have to be weighed by anyone but myself for the forseeable future and that makes me happy. I hate other people weighing me. I like to weigh myself first thing, naked, before a shower which might be weird, but it’s entirely fine because it doesn’t disrupt my life at all. I’m just more comfy when I’m at my lowest possible weight of the day, but I’m also fine with the fact that that weight will increase as the day goes on, I just don’t have to see it. I’m never going to see my EDU psychiatrist or dietitian or family therapist again. It actually makes me happy. The only reason I’m not fully discharged is because I’m still seeing the Psychologist until I’m under the care of a more appropriate service because he thinks it’s crucial that I have regular contact with mental health services. I’m a “high risk” and “unstable” patient so the NHS have to know whether I need urgent intervention or crisis care. As soon as I’m under more appropriate care though, I’ll be out of the EDU. Hopefully forever. I’ll be really sad when I lose the Psychologist, but I’m happy to be out of the rest of it because I honestly don’t feel like I belong there anymore. It took over a year, but I just don’t think I need their help any longer. I am thankful to them in every way though. I know lots of people have terrible experiences of eating disorder (and mental health more generally) treatment on the NHS, but I can really only sing their praises. There are obviously issues with waiting lists and being able to contact your psychiatrists and stuff, but without their treatment, I’d probably still be sick. The treatment the offered me was all in line with the best evidence based treatment I’ve learnt and researched about. I had regular contact with everyone on my team, there was a heavy focus on refeeding as the single most important aspect of initial treatment, an emphasis on reaching a BMI over 20 and flexible care that tailored around my needs as they changed. They’ve been so brilliant. I literally could not see a way out of anorexia, but with their help I found one and I’m all the better for it.

So now I’m no longer classified as having anorexia nervosa or an eating disorder or disordered eating or anything. I’m ‘recovered’ or ‘in remission’ or however you’d like to put it and I intend to stay that way. Ker-fucking-ching.

Today was also the day of my initial assessment for IMPART. It was basically a screening for all axis II disorders, so all the different personality disorders were checked for. I can officially say that I don’t have antisocial or narcissistic or schizotypal or histrionic or avoidant or dependant or schizoid or paranoid or obsessive compulsive personality disorders. That is good news. That’s so many mental health problems I don’t have to worry about.

However, I did finally receive an official diagnosis. Only a personality disorder specialist psychiatrist can officially diagnose personality disorders and now, it’s official – I have borderline personality disorder. Although I already knew that, I kinda hoped it would turn out to not be true and that a specialist would tell me I was fine. I also hoped they’d tell me it was true so I could be given the hope that I might one day have a better quality of life. It’s a mixed bag of emotion. Apparently I score very highly on the borderline part of the test and am considered to be “severely affected” by the disorder. I guess I knew that already, but I hate when people say it. The assessment was over two hours long. It was seriously hard work and incredibly stressful, but I got through it.

So now I’m on another waiting list – this time for a psychologist to become free to take on my treatment. Apparently its six to eight weeks, though it could be shorter because I was one of the earlier ones to receive a round one assessment after the summer break and they still have a lot behind me. The psychologist may decide that I’m not suitable for treatment with IMPART at all so again, it’s scary. I tend to think that everyone will see that I’m not deserving of help so I always assume people will think I’m completely fine and don’t need their help and be told to go away. The second assessment tries to work out what the best course of treatment is for each individual. It also screens for any axis I mental health problems which may need to be treated before treatment for BPD can begin. Thankfully, because many people with personality disorders have suffered trauma, PTSD won’t rule me out, and because substance abuse is high in people with BPD, that won’t rule me out either. Both are treated within the service. If, for example, I was still suffering with anorexia, that would have to be treated for that first so IMPART wouldn’t take me on. I don’t consider myself depressed (even though I have that diagnosis right now) and I don’t think anxiety would be too much of an issue for them as it’s probably part of the BPD package. Seeing as I have no other diagnosis and don’t think anything else is wrong with me, I hope it’ll be ok. I’m worried about it though. If they take me on, I could be offered 6, 12 or 18 months treatment of CBT or DBT, but the woman who assessed me thinks it’s pretty likely I’ll be offered 12 or 18 months DBT, considering my high risk behaviours and BPD score level, with options to continue treatment if necessary after the completion of the initial time frame. That’ll involve a weekly group session and a weekly individual session. There’s also a possibility I’ll be put into other group therapies like mindfulness group or anxiety group, but that’ll be worked out at the next assessment. She also thinks my treatment will involve regular telephone consultations with whoever my psychologist ends up being. It all sounds pretty intense and apparently it’s actually a lot of hard work, but so was my eating disorder treatment so I’m hopeful I can manage it.

For now though, I have been given her work mobile number to contact her with any queries or questions, either through call or text. I’ve also been invited to join a group session specifically designed for people in this phase of treatment – all the people with personality disorders who are waiting for their second round of assessments. I don’t know if I’ll go yet. It’s quite far away from my house and in an area I don’t know that well and I get pretty scared in places I don’t know. It’s essentially a starter group for CBT and DBT style treatments and to get comfortable working in a group, as well as keeping in contact with the service in order to remain more likely to comply with treatment. We’ll see I guess. I also got a self-help pack. No lie – the NHS have stated that if I’m feeling distressed, I can comfort myself by smoking a cigarette. They also suggest making a secret code, smashing a watermelon, having a polo, trying to wake up before lunch time, building a house of cards, staying in bed, eating chocolate, asking a friend to hold me and creating my own cartoon legend (yes they did use the word legend). There are other things as well, but those are the strangest. There’s also some stuff on relaxation exercises, emotional health and mindfulness in it, as well a lot of numbers to call in a crisis. I got given a crisis card to keep with me as well (in case I ever need to contact crisis services out and about).

All in all, it’s been a very emotional, hard, happy and stressful day. So much to think about – both good and bad. I’m both optimistic and devastated. Excited and anxious. Happy and sad. It’s a lot to take in and I think I might need a little bit of time to recover from it all. Lots of sleep and puppy times ahead I hope.

I’m doing fucking awful at blogging in general at the moment. To be honest, I don’t even know why. I guess it’s not distracting enough. I know that sometimes, blogging is a great release from a whole load of ugly thoughts and working stuff through, but right now, I don’t really know what I’m working through.

As far as recovery from anorexia is concerned, I think I’m doing quite well. It’s not that I’d consider myself fully recovered, but I don’t actually think of myself as having anorexia anymore. I’m not restricting in any way and will happily nibble on chocolates and cake and bread and hummus and crisps and apparently a maple pecan danish which I had for the first time yesterday and they were so completely excellent. I went to a picnic with my friends and got riotously trashed and on vodka, wine and gin (sometimes even with juices as mixer) and actually had a really nice time. I nibbled a lot a lot and have no idea what my calorie intake was and it hasn’t bothered me all that much today and everything. My BMI is normal at around 21 and that doesn’t bother me too much. I mean, it bothers me, but it gets easier and easier to handle and I think my body is still kinda slim maybe. I hesitate in writing that because I’m scared that people who read this will think that I should think that was too fat, but realistically, I even out at a size 8 and that can’t be too big right? I still feel like Jupiter, but I’m getting more able to rationalise it and it doesn’t bother me 24/7. I still get multiple issues per day with my body, my shape, my weight and my size, but it’s not all day every day. I do still have problems with eating, but I’m managing it without it having a negative impact on me physically, and it is improving so I guess that means it’s improving psychologically too. Like I always have to make my own food and stuff and I haven’t got close to eating intuitively, but I eat nice foods and I have a lot of variety in my diet and sometimes I cook really nice things with lots of time and energy and sometimes I throw some veggies, grains and pulses in a bowl because I’m tired and can’t be fucked. I think it’s getting closer to normal every day. It’s good. I still walk a lot, but apart from yoga I don’t do any other set exercise and I would rather see my friends and wind up with a killer hangover so skip yoga if it seems more fun at the time. I very rarely get sucked into food porn and health or diet websites. I’m no longer using eating disorder forums really. I almost except that my weight was actually critically unhealthy and that I could possibly be or look better or more healthy now so that’s an improvement. And not being fully obsessed with food and numbers and calories and weights which I guess is good. It leaves my brain for much more horrible things, but at least it isn’t quite as boring. Clothes shopping still makes me want to die but still. I get a lot of compare and despair thoughts when I see people or just generally realise I am no longer small. I also want to restrict my food quite a lot. These things don’t make me do it though.

This week, I had a weigh in with the ED psychiatrist. It was pretty distressing as I weighed more than I’d expected. Granted it was in the afternoon so I’d actually eaten two meals by this point, but I was a whole 3kg more than I was at my previous weigh-ins. At the time, that bothered me the most. There was more though. Like the fact she told me I was selfish for taking an overdose which made me really fucking angry and I shouted at her. I don’t think suicide or attempts at it (not that this is what I consider my overdose as) are selfish. I think that it’s an act of people who are incredibly unwell and don’t see other options. It’s sad and horrible, but not selfish. It’s like calling any mental health issue selfish, which I completely disagree with. She told me I was too angry in general, which fucked me off. She also told me my weight gain wasn’t normal and I should work out why I’d gained so much so I could stop gaining and gaining. On top of this, she stated that she’d be happy to discharge me. I guess I should be happy with this, but I freaked out because it’d mean I couldn’t get access to a dietitian or the Psychologist or anything at all and no one takes me seriously and I hate it because I need access to this help if I need it so I told her no, then stormed out, fell into the grass in the middle of the hospital and hit myself in the head whilst crying. In a predominantly mental health hospital, I don’t know if this kinda behaviour is more or less acceptable in that kinda location, but it happened anyway. For about 15 minutes. After storming out of therapy the week before, I seem to be making a habit of the dramatic exit.

Anyway, the next day, I had my first period in 4 years so that’d explain the unexplained weight gain, as well as the extremely stupid emotional responses. And also it means that I’m actually a healthy weight and that I’m probably not infertile or anything. It’s a good thing I think. It’s kinda weird. I’ve never really had normal periods. They’re not a bother or anything for me, which is pretty lucky, but they started pretty late, have never been regular and I went on a POP pretty much straight out the door so they got less and less regular and easy to understand. I don’t know what to expect really, but I guess I’ll figure that out if they keep going. Who knows really. I know this is all a little TMI, but I don’t care. It’s my blog and if people judge me as a weirdo, so be it. All in all, it’s probably a good thing. I feel slightly ambiguous in that eating disordered way of “If I have periods, I’m not small enough” which likes to rattle around in my brain till it keeps me up at night. That’s what diazepam is for I guess.

So yer, my body works, my eating disordered thoughts are lessening and my behaviours are lessening. All in all, that side of my life is improving.

The HTT also think I’m doing well. They plan to discharge me within the next week so they must do. I don’t feel any different from when they started seeing me really, but I didn’t feel deserving of them and didn’t use them as I should. They honestly don’t know much about me or my mental health. I can’t call them because one time I called them drunk. I don’t trust them to be able to help me. I don’t think they take me seriously. They don’t believe me that I burn. They don’t see and I failed because I didn’t show them. I have all the time in the world to show everyone, I just haven’t found the right way. But I was never deserving and never that bad anyway. They were supposed to turn up yesterday, but they didn’t so I didn’t get my medications and they’re so late this morning I don’t think they’re going to show up. I probably should call them, but I don’t because they don’t like me anyway. They blatantly forgot me on purpose because they see me as a waste of time. If they ever come again, I’m thinking of kicking them out. I’ll probably change my mind but I’m really pissed off and they’re leaving me anyway so I want to get there first so it’s on my terms. Or do something dramatic so they’ll stay. I’ll probably cop-out of everything.

Same with the Psychologist I think. He sees me as a waste of time. I can tell each week he’s finding me more and more annoying and awful and can’t be fucked with me. I’m seeing him this week, but then he’s taking leave for a few weeks and I’m thinking of firing him before he can fire me this week. He hates me and thinks I’m undeserving so I have to make him think I don’t give a fuck about him and couldn’t care less if he ditches me or not so I’ll get there first. I keep getting more and more worked up about therapy

I’m so full of emotions and thoughts and I can’t contain them. I can’t contain my brain. I know brains are weird and how consciousness is contained is a little bit strange to think about, but technically it is entirely contained within my body, predominantly inside my skull. It doesn’t feel like that though. It feels like my brain just spills out of me all over everything I touch. It goes either way. When I’m happy, I spill my happy all over my thoughts and all over my surroundings. I can’t concentrate because my mind is agitated by my mood and all my thoughts jump around possible happy things like when I do well and people like me and I’m funny and beautiful and get the boy and get a first in my degree and wind up becoming a medical doctor because I’m amazing and could do anything I want and I have a puppy and it’s a good hair day and I’ve picked an exceptionally good nail varnish combination. When I’m comfortable, I’m so comfortable that I can share anything with anyone and I should call them and tell them that I miss them because they all care for me and I care for them and why don’t people tell this to each other often because it always makes you feel better and all my secrets should be shared and it’s ok if I’m silly because people like silly and I hold hands and hug and get all up in personal space and feel safe. When I’m desperate, I’m so desperate my whole world sinks and I can’t bring myself to talk or eat or sleep because I’m the ugliest, stupidest, most boring of everyone I know and any compliment is a backhanded joke at my expense and it was a fluke I even have a degree and I’ll be unemployed forever because I have no skills and suck at life and there’s nothing and no one likes me and I’ll always fail and be low functioning forever. When I’m scared, everyone is leaving because they can’t see that I’m serious and no one realises I’m burning and I’ll burn forever because burning on the inside isn’t as deserving as burning outwards and no one will believe me and they’ll all go and there’ll be no one left to help me and I’ll just keep on burning and burning. I could list more emotions that spill and spill on my reading and my work and my social life and getting dressed in the morning and every other second of the day. I can’t concentrate at anything at all and I can’t commit to anything and I’m wasting my life with all the mess it’s causing. The diazepam doesn’t help with the concentration aspect, but it does stop me getting so frantically worked up in an emotion (good or bad) that I can’t cope and act out. I think my moods are elevated since the duloxetine kicked in, but it’s equally uncontainable and unrestrained. The good is really good, but even that gets too much to handle. It’s kinda like being a child, except a lot more destructive.

And at the same time, I don’t feel any of these things. It’s all just constructions I create in my head to try convince myself there’s any person left since I so completely killed off anything real and all that’s left is lies I have to perform will full intensity to try to force myself to believe it. I’m performing so hard it’s bursting out of me and I burn. Nothing I do or have ever done feels like it really happened. Sometimes I actually lose time and don’t have memories of what happened. I have no consequences so anything I do or feel has no influence on what comes next. Nothing is real. Except I know it is, but I don’t experience it as real. Watching life happen whilst everything is lies and nothing has consequences but with it turned up so loud that it’s making me raw.

Standardly.

This kinda distracts me from the blogging universe as well. I find it hard to read through posts, I write posts in sections over actual days because I cannot keep my mind in one place. And what makes it more difficult is that I don’t know how to make this better. I don’t know what actions to take. Recovery from anorexia involved a clear course of action. I had to change the behaviours, no matter how fucking horrible it was for every attempt I made for the best part of a year. It’s only through changing behaviours over and over again that I could challenge the thought processes and fears that kept me stuck in my completely damaging eating habits. It’s not more or less simple than recovery from other mental health problems, but the aims are clear. Concrete behaviours ruled by fear are bastards to change but at least it’s concrete. There are no concrete steps I can think of now. I know there are all these mental techniques, but I find that much harder to engage with or even contemplate than physical action. I like to see change, imagining it seems ridiculous to me. I know that it’s actually not, but it all feels so…. holistic therapy or motivational life coach to me and even though there’s real evidence that the techniques I’ve researched work. I’m just better able to contemplate the physical over the mental I guess.

So I feel kinda stuck. And I don’t really know if I should just be posting the same thing over and over because I’m not making any progress and I don’t want to have this “woe is me” kinda blog and seeing as really, I’m waiting for the next round of treatment to begin, not much seems to be happening.

I’ve had a nice day the other day. It was hot, but not too hot. It wasn’t sunny. I went to St. Katherine’s Dock and had some really nice food and walked about, looking at all the posh yachts and things. I accidentally found the Denmark cultural market thing (lots of countries have cultural markets dotted about London during the Olympics). I walked from Tower Hill into the city to do some vintage browsing and a little shopping in Brick Lane, then grabbing a tarte aux fruits from Patisserie Valerie.

All good things. Except none of it feels like it happened. I know full well it did. I remember it. The memories don’t seem real though. The feel like someone else’s memories. It wasn’t really me. I wasn’t in control, I wouldn’t want to act that way, the things I said are things I don’t think etc. I have problems feeling connected to my memories and past feelings and thoughts. It’s not just past events and actions, it also happens in the moment. My brain starts questioning my actions. It’s most scary when it starts questioning thoughts and feelings. Everything becomes lies, except I’m not lying. It’s like I can’t not lie. I have to because there’s no facts and no truths and no person. Just stories I started telling myself years ago so I could pretend to myself that I wasn’t so terrible. Now whatever person there may or may not have been has gone and all that’s left is the narrative. It’s such a hard thing to describe and I keep trying to, but just can’t seem to find the right words. It’s just so distressing. It’s like suddenly you zone in to what’s happening and you’re doing something you don’t really feel is true because you’re not in control. You’re saying words that aren’t your words and don’t describe your thoughts. Then you start to try to work out what your thoughts are, but there are none. Each thought you have isn’t true. Even the thought that your thoughts aren’t true isn’t true. And because nothing is true, you have absolutely no choice but to keep making things up and pretending and lying because without the falsities, there is literally nothing. No thoughts, no actions, no emotions. You just wouldn’t exist. You become something entirely constructed. But the construction isn’t perfect because you just can’t create concepts that tightly mesh to make a coherent whole. The concepts don’t fit together properly and you get terrified people will push at the cracks and expose the fact you’re nothing and then they’ll laugh at you. So you panic, covering cracks with more concepts, digging the hole deeper and deeper. And the person you’ve so consciously, yet so entirely unconsciously, created is rubbish too. You’ve failed to make someone worth being and killed the truth completely. You’re just completely unable to be or feel anything true. You’re only a performance of a person, constantly performing even when you’re all alone.

It’s really horrible.

The Psychologist wants me to keep an authenticity journal. Every time I do or think something that feels authentically me, I’m meant to write it down to keep a log of what keeps me grounded. The problem with this task is that as soon as I reflect on whether I was authentic or not, I start questioning myself and my reality. It becomes lies. The question becomes how the fuck do I even start this task? I start freaking out about the task itself. I’m so stuck.

I play with Juno because I love her. But do I love her? Or do I pretend to love her because it’s nice and girly and cute to completely love baby animals and I want to believe that is who I am and I want others to believe it to so I’m just pretending to love her because I think that’d make me better? Do I really want to self-injure, or do I just want people to think that I’m not coping, even though I am, because then they’ll want to help me more? Did I ever really have an eating disorder, or did I actually just want to believe I did so that I could get attention? Every section of my brain becomes something to doubt.

On top of worrying about all this nonsense, I still have to actually worry about it. I have to worry when I’m lying in the dark, calling people up to tell them things I know I shouldn’t and might not even be true with no control over my actions. I have to worry when I’m running down the road, pounding my feet on the pavement till my whole body aches so I feel more present and can rid myself of the burning emotions I don’t know if I feel. I have to worry when I’m shouting at the people I love. I have to worry when I’m tearing my room apart.

But that’s why I’m getting a blood test tomorrow. The HTT are putting me on mood stabilizers to try to dampen my moods. They have to check my blood levels first, but then I start a new medication on top of everything else I’m taking. I’m scared of them. I don’t want to dampen all my moods, just some. I like when I feel great because I get really excited and jump about and cannot contain my happiness. It can be good to not be able to contain an emotion, but it can be awful too. In some ways though, I think it might be good to contain some on the good emotions too because then I’ll do less things that with hindsight make me feel so much shame. I like to share all my uncontainable emotions and although the good emotions are great, it’s in the sharing that I find the shame. So much shame. I never understand why I do and say things. The Pa is organising for me to have some sort of terrifying conversations with my Uncle about what mood stabilizers are actually like. He’s suffered from bipolar in the past and had a lot of experience with those medications, plus seems to be pretty darn stable so might have positive stories. I’m already feeling shame for that conversation and it hasn’t even happened.

To add to it all, I’m really struggling internally with my eating. I gained some weight I think, which should be fine seeing as I’m on new meds and cutting back my NRT and still have no periods so probably need a bit more weight anyway. It makes me feel awful though and it makes me want to control my eating more. I’m struggling to keep up my progress. I am obviously eating more than I need to, but I’m also hungry quite a lot and I don’t know what to do about it all really. Restriction keeps playing on my mind, but I don’t restrict. I keep eating regardless so I don’t wind up going backwards. It’s hard though. Like actually. I really badly want to lose weight. Really badly. My thoughts are getting more and more caught up in food and diets. I’m ugly and I suck therefore I must lose weight so I can be prettier and people will like me more. Whether or not this is actually true is neither here nor there. It’s not logical, but it’s how I feel. I feel dumpy and ugly.

It’s hard to eat. It’s hard to not exercise. I’ve spent a good portion of today looking up adult gymnastics and ballet classes. I want to be strong and flexible. Yoga isn’t enough anymore really. I’m not getting pushed enough. I’ll probably not follow-up on it, but today I’ll dream of exercise.

I don’t have all that many pictures from when I was really ill, which I think is good. All of the pictures from when I was at my absolute worst involve sunglasses or being miserable so they aren’t particularly useful for this effort. Plus they are all actually really horrible. My face really shouldn’t have that little fat on it. It’s not very nice.

I did manage to find one that although isn’t the worst time, I was definitely restricting and pretty unwell. I was happy in that moment though I think. I was on a weekend away, drinking pretentious cocktails with the Boy that I loved and I was glad. This is actually a really good picture from that time period. I might not be healthy, but jeez, I don’t look half as bad as I do in some of the others. Probably because I’m genuinely feeling ok, and also it’s an ok angle, I’d eaten a big dinner and I’m not in my glasses. This is me smiling.

This was taken indoors. You wouldn’t think that with those layers on.

This next one is a picture of me today. I was laughing a lot and having a nice time. I’m pretty sad most of the time, but I was enjoying myself at this moment. I’d just figured out the mode on my camera that takes loads of pictures really quickly and I was pulling faces at it to see how my face moved in picture form. Most of the pictures are awful, but it was totally fun and I got some happy looking ones because I was laughing in between gurns. I got my smiling widget one in the same set. This is me smiling today.

Today.

Neither of these pictures are particularly nice and I really don’t like my face, but that isn’t the point of this exercise. I figured that all the people who it would actually matter to me what they thought of my face have already seen my face lots and lots of times with and without make up, dirty, whilst I’m so trashed I can’t see, the morning after etc. The rest of you can think what you like and chances are, I’ll never have to deal with it. I don’t feel uglier then all of you because I don’t know what most of you look like and I don’t think I need to impress any of you seeing as you’re mostly girls and I don’t fancy any of you. Trust me as well, I do really see the flaws so don’t think I’m so stupid I haven’t noticed. I wanted to pick some that were kinda similar to each other give the right idea, but in doing so I lost a bit of possible dramatic effect from putting up some hideous, no make-up, gaunt face. Also, I don’t really like dwelling on the worst and most emaciated I have looked. I hope you see what I mean anyway.

I think that there’s a whole lot of worry about appearance in recovery, and when you’re really sick as well. At least for me there was. I don’t think my restriction was purely to be thin because I think very much that not eating and exercising calms me down a lot and makes the world easier to manage for a bit, but I thought of my weight loss in terms of aesthetic. I could recognise I wasn’t objectively large, but still felt I’d look better smaller. It’s made weight gain pretty awful and I cannot stand my body on most days, but it’s gets less important I think and it affects me less as I get used to just being this size.

Recovery has wrecked my skin something rotten and it still flakes, but I went to my G.P. and Epiduo seems to be doing the trick with keeping the spots away. My beauty regime of Cetaphil face wash and SPF 15 moisturiser in the day, Clinique City Block SPF 40 if it’s sunny, followed by Ultrabland to cleanse, followed by Vanishing Cream at night have made my skin less dry than it would be otherwise, and my Laura Mercier oil free tinted moisturiser SPF 20 makes my skin look almost normal.

With acne and body image and all that rubbish, it’s easy to forget that actually, my face looks a hell of a lot better now. My cheeks and all full and round and pink and I look less tired and drawn. All things considered, that probably makes me look better regardless of how horrid my skin is and how fat I feel. I look healthier and happier and just generally nicer. I moan about my body and face, but my face is definitely nicer than it was the last few years regardless of the spots, and that’s the first thing people notice anyway.

Plus also, I’ve really got to get over the fact I don’t want anyone to see my face so I thought it might help a little bit. Shove my face in your throats in the hope that it’ll make it easier for me to actually see some of you.

I should stop focusing on every part of me I think is worse and start looking at what’s better. I’m going to have positive body image if it kills me I swear.

So I think some people might hate this post, but I also think its part of an actual problem when it comes to human beings, especially those with eating disorders. I don’t even think it’s just a body image thing either because I think a lot of it for me was based on what I had achieved rather than whether it looked good. But anyway I’m going to put a big trigger warning all over this because I can see how it could be ridiculously triggering. I like to think that it won’t, and I know this makes me feel better and could have saved a lot of tears, but none the less…

TRIGGER WARNING – This is basically going to talk about clothes sizes. Over and over again. And my size. If you’re not comfortable and happy with your size right now, it may cause you some upset, though it may do just the opposite. I duno. But it’s going to involve lots of numbers.

So anyway, I went clothes shopping yesterday. I’m pretty glad about it really. I know it must seem like all I do is clothes shop, but I don’t really. I’ve (obviously) grown out of a lot of my clothes. I think I’m going to sell like 8 pairs of jeans and trousers, 3 pairs of shorts, 2 skirts and 1 dress. It’s a lot of clothes, lots of which are really bloody nice and are in really good condition. I spent good bloody money on those clothes just to have to get rid of them and it’s sad really. It’s also meant that I’ve been without both basics and statements. Until yesterday, I literally didn’t have any standard jeans or trousers. I have great striped jeans and fabz patterned leggings, but I’ve lost 3 pairs of chinos, my blue jeans, my grey jeans, my black and grey striped cropped trousers, my black jeans etc. I still owned more trousers than your average person, but how I look matters a lot to me and I’ve always had a whole load more clothes than I should really.

No joke of a lie, this is actually the label in on the the pairs I’m selling. They’re Topman and used to belong to the Ex. Trust me, they are actually really triggering. Being bigger than the Boy was really hard for me and I hate that I don’t fit these now. To be fair though, I don’t think they’d fit him anymore either, but still, massive trigger jeans lolz.

Anyway, I wasn’t going to get any more big clothes items till after summer seeing as I’ve replaced two pairs of shorts and grown into two old pairs and I really don’t lose all that much from the skirts seeing as they weren’t basic and I have a whole loads of skirts anyway. The dress is just sad seeing as it’s my Auntie’s old dress from the ’60s. She is very, very short and did that whole tiny ’60s lady thing. I have a lot of her old stuff, most of which still fits great and its excellent clothes. I’m babbling again. So yer, I was just gonna stop seeing as I live off benefits and the fam are feeling a lot less wealthy right now and we’re scaling back a lot (both the parent’s work in the public sector, plus the Ma recently took a lower paid position seeing as she hated being a head teacher), but then I saw the summer sales and realised that actually, I could get identical plain jeans and chinos now and for half the usual price, plus with student discount, which I’ll probably lose before the next round of sales. And also, it’d make me happy to have the basics down so I can actually wear everything I own again. I have serious shopping guilt, but the fam put some money in seeing as I actually had to grow, so had to get rid of a lot of clothes, plus I figured I’m on benefits because I’m deemed unfit for work. Really, I should be spending this money on things that celebrate getting healthier and make being healthy easier. And I’ve quit smoking so have lots more money than I’m used to. So I trawled the internet, looking at all the jeans and chinos in various sales, picking out the ones I liked from various shops then headed out to the shops to try them on. In an ideal world, I would buy them online, but it’s not an ideal world and sizes are a mess.

I know my measurements. I don’t know all of them anymore so I couldn’t tell you the diameter of my thighs or anything, but I know my basics – inside leg, hips, waist, bust. I also know what size that makes me. Due to my new-found waist, I firmly believe I’ve got a pear shaped body as my bust is a 6, but my waist is an 8 and my hips are closer to an 8 than a 10 in fairly standard measurements, but I could probably wear either size. However, the width of my shoulders means I don’t look all that pear. In fact, I look incredibly boxy. My shoulders have always meant that fitted tops are a no go seeing as my bust and shoulder measurements do not match up. But anyway, seeing as I refuse to wear anything labelled with a 6 and I may have some weight gain in me yet, I go for 8 on top, 10 on bottom which makes sense. Or so I thought anyway.

There are lots of nice clothes shops out there. Lots and lots. I really like Uniqlo for instance and I think they’re jeans are actually a really decent material and are super comfy. I also like some of the designs and colours of River Island chinos. In fact, there are lots of shops, many of which are really great and most of which are having boomtingz sales at the moment.

I already don’t buy anything with a fitted waist at H&M. They’re sizes are stated as smaller than most other shops, though in reality, they’re clothes run such a variety of sizes that it’s impossible to tell. I have a pair of jeans from there that are a 10 and quite tight so I wanted some new ones. I thought I’d go for the same jeans in a different colour, but the sizes in that batch are way different and confusing and I couldn’t be bothered. When I bought those size 10 jeans though, I was a 6 in Topshop so go figure. Still, I can just about still wear them so I guess it’s no real loss. The joys of stretcy denim.

After trying on jeans and trousers in a few shops, I came to the conclusion that you know what? It’s not worth it. I’m purely going to buy fitted trousers from Topshop. I know what clothes fit me there, plus they’re clothes tend to be designed to fit boyish figures better and I’d consider my figure boyish as I’m definitely not curvy. All in all, it’s less traumatic because I know the sizing there well. I’ve been buying trousers there since school times so have quite a good idea of how my body fits their clothes at various weights and sizes. The fact that I’m buying clothes that are labelled as larger than I would in other shops doesn’t bother me too much as when thinking of my measurements, they’re labels seem reasonably true to size, which is something of a miracle in clothes shopping today. In fact, I didn’t get upset or worried or anything because it wasn’t a palava. I didn’t have to go back for a new size or anything. It was great. No drama.

I buy a lot of second-hand clothes so I’m pretty aware of the fact that sizes have been getting larger. A ’80s size 12 is a small 10/large 8 by today’s standards. Even so, most shops have size guides and most size guides are about the same measurements, give or take a few inches, so there really shouldn’t be that much difference between shops. Vanity sizing has pretty much thrown this idea out the window. I’ve gone to shops and found things that should fit too small, gone home and cried about it (during weight gain), and gone to shops and found things that should fit too big, gone home and cried about it (that’s recovery for you – you’re actually sad you haven’t grown into normal people sizes yet). I’ve done a lot of crying because of size diferences, but it’s not just the emotional silliness that comes with labels, but it’s actually completely impractical. Men’s sizes are somewhat easier I imagine as they tend to come in inches, though I guess the S, M, L sizing must be a pain, but they have that for women too. In some shops, a M is a 10, which is stupid seeing as the UK average is like a 14 or something, which would make the average woman an XL. In other shops though, it’s completely different and a 10 is an XS, which makes more sense, but is really confusing. So anyway, to stop myself getting worked up over sizing, I did some research on to vanity sizing and how it works.

Vanity sizing is essentially when you label things as smaller than they are so that when someone tries it on, they feel better about themselves as they fit into a smaller size than they thought they were. So you label something as a 12, a woman who is a 12 tries it on, but it’s way too big and she think “yuss! I’m slimmer!” and gets a 10, feels good about it, so in theory is more likely to shop there again due to the morale boost they get from smaller sizes. I see why this could be a nice thing, but to me, it’s the opposite seeing as I actually want to stay a reasonable size and find it hard to work out if I actually am. Plus I’m still on the small side so I can’t go down that many sizes as they don’t stock them. I also think it’s kinda patronising as it suggests women care more about their size than how easy it is to shop and the many returns they have to give if they don’t try stuff on. Some shops do it worse than others for sure, and it’s not the only issue with sizing out there.

Basically, the cheaper the shop, the more likely it is for their sizing to run small. I think this is likely to be true. H&M sizes are stated as smaller than most shops and I know that Primark jeans always seem to run smaller than other shops. Even at my lowest weight, their size 6 jeans were snug, when others were falling off. This is because fabric costs money and using less of it will up profits. So essentially, if you shop somewhere cheaper, expect to maybe need a bigger size than usual.

Sizes tend to run closer to true in shops aimed at younger women. In my experience, this is entirely right. Topshop and New Look and Urban Outfitters all seem to run pretty true to my measurements, whatever size I’ve been, though Urban Outfitters can also run a bit big. In Topshop, whenever I’ve taken my waist measurements to buy trousers, the exact measurement fits. Urban Outfitters tend to label as S, M, L, but you can check their size guide online and it does pretty much match up. Sizes run larger as target customers’ age. In my experience, River Island runs around a size larger than Topshop, Uniqlo (and apparently Zara) bigger still, with Next and M&S topping the size charts. I still struggle to fit M&S clothes as they don’t stock many 6s and the ones they do are still pretty loose. I am not a 6, yet M&S tell me I am. They were also the first shop I noticed I’d grown out of (I don’t shop in Next), swiftly followed by Uniqlo. However, at least I’m too big for the smallest Uniqlo jeans now (which makes me sad seeing as I loved mine so much and never got to wear them as I was always too small and now I’m too big. eBay time I guess). This is apparently because as women get older, they want to stay the same kinda size they’ve always been, but obviously babies, menopause and such changes body shape and often weight. The idea is that as you move through the market as you age, you don’t get disheartened or whatever. The labels and size guides may give you the exact measurements for each size, but what’s actually on the hanger gets further away from those measurements as the target customer ages.

The other variable is region. American brands run large, regardless of the audience. Apparently this is purely because the American population are larger than the population here in Europe. Gap is the worst apparently in the U.K.. I don’t shop in Gap, but their size 6 (labelled as an American size 0) is apparently more like a 10, so if I were to shop in Gap, I’d still be a 0 in jeans, which is ridiculous because I’m not, or a 00/4 in tops, which is even more ridiculous. Honestly, I read an article today which had a 34 inch waist man wearing a UK size 6 skirt because it was so big. European brands apparently run smaller than in the UK as we’re larger here than on the continent. I think this is true with H&M and also true when you’re abroad, but the other big European brand (Zara), runs bigger IMO.

And all of this before you get the standard deviations from size found in different cuts, materials, normal errors and such in production, and standard design mistakes.

I know I probably find this disheartening for all the wrong reasons, but I really do. Shopping online is a stupid idea seeing as all the sizes are so different that you never know what you’re going to get and unless you really know the brand, it’ll probably be wrong. What annoys me is that I’ve put a lot of work into being a healthy size and I’d like to think that although I may have to gain some more, I’m still a healthy size. I don’t like the fact that I can go into shops and they’ll tell me that my hard work isn’t doing enough. I know that isn’t true, but it feels like it. I hate that I’m now a healthy BMI, yet M&S is still a bit of a no-go shop for me. It shouldn’t be. It’s so disheartening to pick up a pair of trousers in the smallest size, only to find you’re still too small. Equally though, it’s horrible to put on your normal size, only to find you need two sizes bigger. Honestly, right now, I range from a 4 to a 10 (maybe a 12 or 14, but as I’ve said, I stay away from shops that make me feel bigger), which is ridiculous. And confusing. And also, seeing as I refuse to buy any tops smaller than an 8 or any jeans smaller than a 10 purely because I know I shouldn’t be that small, it’s prohibitive and annoying.

So anyway, I ended up in Topshop, as I always do. I picked up two pairs of chinos (one beige, high-waisted pair to replace a yellow high-waisted pair, one navy, mid-rise pair to replace my dusty pink ones) and a pair of standard blue, Baxter skinnies to replace some low-rise Miss Selfridge skinnies from third year. They are all size 10, all a little bit big (especially the high-waisted ones), but all very much wearable and I do own belts. I wonder if I should have got them in an 8 seeing as I do still fit my 8 skinnies, but in the end, I’m glad they’re a bit big as I’m less self-conscious about myself that way, plus I have room to grow if I need too (and I can still wear the 8s if I want to go for that skin-tight-I-look-buff look). They fit exactly the way they should, given my measurements and what I’m after. And they all look great. I think they’re all practical items actually, espeically the mid-rise chinos the low-rise Baxters. Chinos with brogues, literally any top and a boyfriend fit blazer always makes for a half decent, no effort outfit. Plus low-rise skinnies make any casual day outfit more respectable as you can pull on a super cosy, massive charity shop jumper with them and not look like a giant sack, you can wear anything untucked without looking like you have a lumpy growth on your belly, and the lack of tuck ability means that you never end up looking too smart accidentally. Plus I won’t lie, I already own mid-rise, boyfriend fit skinnies (actually the Ex’s actually. Same size jeans, different cut). Boring, but versatile wardrobe stables. I’m really glad that I’ve actually achieved fully functioning wardrobe now. Effectively, anything I buy from here on in is added extras (like the dinosaur t-shirt the Ma got me for finishing my NHS Stop Smoking course. Yuss!)

However, I’m sad that I had to stick to one, standard shop. I’d like more options, but it’s too complicated and too hard and this way, I know what I’m getting. I really want to get these shorts off eBay, but although they’re only 99p and right close to the end of bidding, I won’t, seeing as I’ve never tried on Armani jeans (the owner customised) and the size is a mystery. She says 29 inch waist, size 8, but those two statements contradict each other (unless they’re mens jeans). In theory, that’s a 10/12. Just saying.

Now at least I can finally wear all my lovely tops and t-shirts again without looking stupid. Fucking clothes sizing.

It’s really blood cold this morning. I’m really shivery actually. I might put on another jumper. Why is it so cold? It’s almost July! So annoying. So so annoying. Miserable weather right now. I like the cold, but I don’t like the cold when we’ve turned out heating off for summer.

So I was going to do this epic post, but I changed my mind. It’s pretty hard to talk about and I think maybe it’s not so bad or whatever and I changed my mind. Ah well. Instead I’m going to post something really great. Imma talk about my body.

I read all these posts from all these people who are like “my eating disorder has nothing to do with my body shape”, but mine totally does. I always feel like I should mention that to the real life people who read this seeing as they might not know of the elusive non-fat phobic anorexia sufferer and I don’t want to generalize and promote inaccurate stereotypes. Anyway, there’s a lot of other things that come into play when restriction gets going for sure. It’s calming, addictive, numbing etc., but I wanted to be small for sure. At first I wanted to lose the extra weight I put on during first year. I lost that, and more, really quickly, and by that point I was too scared to eat normally. I did actually think I looked great at that point, but I was so scared to gain it back that I just kept losing. A lot of my eating disorder is purely about being scared to gain weight back. At one point, I really didn’t want to lose more weight so every time I reached a certain pound, I’d make a point of eating bare Ciao burger and loads of chocolate and crisps, but as soon as it got a couple of pound up, I’d freak the fuck out and under eat again. It wasn’t till I started to notice real problems in my relationship with the Ex that I actively decided that I needed to be tiny. I needed to be the small one. In my mind, he thought small was pretty and therefore I needed to be smaller than every other girl because that was better and he’d like me more. He didn’t think small was pretty and told me I looked scary and I pushed him away more, but still I believed the eating disorder logic. I was still losing weight at this point so I don’t think it actually changed all that much physcially, but this was when I really decided that it looked best being small. I wanted bigger thigh gaps and more bones because those things were beautiful. Existing on as little as possible and resisting all food was the ideal.

Nowadays when I see really tiny lady pictures, I think about how hard it must be for them. I think about the pressure sores and digestive issues and flaky skin and head hair loss/body hair gain paradox and think it is actually the least fun and totally not at all glamorous. You don’t hear about the pressure sores. Pressure sores are really ugly. If you done have enough fat covering your bones, pressure sores are inevitable. It doesn’t change the fact that I very much look at tiny people and think that they have fabz bodies and want them even now and hate my own body for not looking like that. What can I say? I’m most definitely fat-phobic and the media does affect my body image in a negative way and that’s just the way it is. My body has never reached the standards of attractive thrown in my face all the time and I hate it for that. There isn’t much I can do about it because it’s genetic, but it makes me sad. I hold my weight in stomach and thighs, but never in my bum. I’ve never needed a bra, regardless of whether I’m overweight or underweight. I have broad shoulders and slim hips with little waist definition. I have chunky arms though for sure. These things are always the same, regardless of body weight. Except for my waist. I get a waist when I’m really underweight. And my stomach does actually get flat when my BMI is so low I start collapsing all the time. Sustaining that was destroying me though. Basically, I’m destined to have this awful body.

Things do change though.

Stop the press guys – I’ve actually got a waist! I know right? What the fuck? I’ve never had a waist. I’m tubular. Not anymore because I’m all waisted. I don’t even know when this happened but it’s pretty great. Maybe I did always have a waist all along. Or maybe my body shape has changed a bit in the last few years. It’s not like, the world’s most prominent waist, but there is definite waist going on in my life right now. I noticed it yesterday. I know this going to sound super arrogant, but I actually think that crop tops suit me because then I actually notice my waist. They cut just across the waist line, highlighting the definition in that area. Wearing stupid clothes throughout recovery may just pay off because I looked in the mirror and thought “actually, you look alright. You’re belly isn’t too big and you have all this waist happening and you look good in that crop top” which wouldn’t of happened if I’d been covering up. My body is entirely not defined. I try to think of it as soft instead of fat, but that can be hard. There is no muscle definition there though really. But soft is actually pretty on other people so if I think that enough maybe it’ll be pretty on me.

Bodies in recovery change a hella lot. In general, your body preferentially lays down fat over muscle tissue, but that fat is then used as energy sources for muscle growth over time. That time is different for everyone, but it’s often over a year for the full redistribution of body tissue. Most people also preferentially lay fat down in their stomach, though it does eventually start going everywhere else. I know that for ages, I had bony back, chest, arms and legs with a big ol’ preggerz belly. Now though, I do have fat on all my body areas so although I’m not convinced my stomach will ever change seeing as it’s always been big and round, it does look a little bit less weird. All those people who tell you body image does improve in recovery are right though. It fully does improve. I may well hate my belly and waist again in an hour, but in general, the trend in body image is upwards. Even though my thighs most definitely have no gap. And lets not lie, it’s definitely better when you can’t see your spine through your clothes. My belly sticks out all grose, but I am actually slightly woman shaped. I’m hoping that’s a good thing. I don’t know if it’s redistributing or what, but it could definitely be worse.

I still have a lot of body hang ups. Like a lot a lot. But my body is so much happier now than it’s been in so long and that’s worth celebrating. I may not be the small one and my stomach may not be at what I see as ideal, but I had that ideal and I was having a rubbish time so I think it’s better. I think a lot of people in recovery start or continue to hide their bodies away with lots of shame that it’s changed and got bigger and all of that malarky. Not everyone because some people definitely believe that more body weight looks better as they are non-fat phobic AN sufferers, but everyone else maybe. I don’t actually think that’s all good though. I think you actually have to look at your body a little bit, and dress to show it off. You have to spend time getting to know it in order to get used to it and that unfortunately involves getting out of sweats and baggy t-shirts sometimes. So I’m going to be ok with my belly and my new-found waist. And you know what else, I’m going to embrace it. Judge it as you like, it’s mine and I’m going to be bloody well proud of my recovery body.

This is my belly and waist yesterday night. After a full day of food and absolutely no exercise. I think that maybe, it’s not so bad.

(ps. check out my number one favorite body part – my belly button! Seriously, it’s so perfectly round! And also you can’t see the bottom so it looks like a never-ending pit. I really love my belly button so much. This is why it has escaped piercing so long :D).

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my life, my recovery and all all the steps in between

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Basically, I password some of my posts. I do it because this blog was designed for, and therefore read by, people in my real world. Rarely, I'll blog about things I'm not all that comfy sharing yet. However, if you're interested in having a looksy, give a shout in a comment somewhere and chances are, I'll give it to you. Sozzles.